Word of Honor
by Sandra Phillips
Summary: Piandao has a long history with the royal line - one of blood, and trust, and betrayal. And just when he believes he has been left in peace, along comes Princess Ursa, asking lessons for her son and bearing a Pai Sho tile...
1. Soldier Boy

The first time he saw her was in court, when he accepted the draft that would land him right in the middle of an Earth Kingdom military zone. The Fire Lord knelt on his throne, with the cushion his elder son would have sat on had he not been fighting empty on his right. To his left sat his younger son, and to his left his wife, the Princess Ursa, both of them barely twenty – three years older than he. Li had a moment to stare before Azulon accepted the next scroll from the enlister of the Fire Nation boy's camp and opened it. As his monotone voice started reading, he pressed his forehead against the cool tile floor of the throne room and listened carefully, mouthing the words he already knew by heart.

"Li, from the province of Shi Jung, you have been listed as available for draft in the Fire Nation army, with exceptional skills with the sword. Should you accept this draft, you will follow orders without question, you will show honorable behavior on and off the battlefield, and you will give your life without fear for the glory and power of your nation. Do you accept these terms, on the basis that doing so, there is no withdrawing the binding contract that they provide?"

Li lifted his head and looked the Fire Lord in the eye, cold gray against fiery gold, and nodded. _More rituals, more words we all already know. _"I accept the terms gladly, My Lord."

Azulon nodded and rolled the scroll up again, holding it over the flickering flames for Li to collect. The boy stood and walked carefully to the throne, making sure he kept his body bent forward deferentially. He gritted his teeth as he extended his hand to the flames, knowing that any normal boy going into the army would be able to bend them around the skin harmlessly. To his surprise, the flames flickered down slightly, and Li resisted the urge to look around to see who had bent them, instead taking the scroll and bowing low to the Fire Lord, his hand unscathed.

As he walked to the side of the throne room, towards the door blanketed in shadows that led out into the barracks, he finally let himself peer around the room. The other boys from the camp showed no sign of helping him, nor did he expect them to – they were all amazingly practiced at ignoring him and his prodigious talents. Azulon wouldn't have – he had been the one to hold them over the flames in the first place. One look at Ozai's cool, hard expression fixed stonily on the back wall told Li that it wasn't the Prince who had helped him. Finally, Li's eyes rested on the Princess.

Her warm gold eyes were fixed on the back wall like her husband, her face carefully calm and expressionless. But as if sensing his eyes on her, a small smile flicked at the corner of her lips, a tiny acknowledgement, though her eyes didn't so much as twitch in his direction.

A moment later, Li pushed his way through the door, feeling the rush of cold air and what could only be described as a masculine scent, a smile tempting his own mouth. He may be orphaned, one of hundreds to enlist in the army as a source of food and occupation when they were kicked out of the orphanage when they became too old, but the Princess had made sure he didn't get burned doing it. It was a small, insignificant thing, but when she smiled, she was beautiful. If nothing else in the capital, she was worth fighting to protect.


	2. Expectations

_12 years later_

_Tap tap tap._

The signature quiet knock on his door alerted Piandao to his servant's presence just outside his door. He glanced up, but didn't set aside his calligraphy brush. "Yes, Fat?"

The door opened for the mere second it took for the large man to slip in and close it behind him. Fat bowed once and faced his master. "Sir, there is a woman and a small child asking to see you."

Piandao resisted rolling his eyes, dipping his brush in the ink well beside the scroll he was working on. "Did you inform her that my manor is not a sanctuary?"

Fat nodded with another small bow, used to the apparent indifference of the elder man. "Yes, Sir. She told me she wasn't looking for hospitality."

"And just what _is_ she expecting?"

Fat paused. "She says she is looking for a teacher."

Piandao laughed and continued his stroke, unperturbed. "Oh, really? How interesting. As if that's something I haven't heard before."

"She and the child are both in cloaks, Sir, and I didn't see their faces. This could be another assassination attempt."

"That's true, Fat," Piandao allowed, proud of the servant's agile mind. "But that being the case, I will handle them like all the rest." He sighed and wiped the brush on a white cloth, leaning back to admire the neat print. After a moment, he covered the ink well and slipped the brush into a desk drawer. "Take this outside to dry," he said, gesturing at the scroll. "Then send them in."

"Yes, Sir." Fat bowed and collected the scroll, hustling away. Piandao stood and walked to one of the many windows looking into the courtyard, admiring the view of the sun low on the eastern horizon as he waited. A minute had come and gone when he heard the door open behind him. "Sir," Fat's voice said quietly, followed by the sound of the door closing once more. Piandao turned around to see two small figured kneeling respectfully by the entrance, their faces hidden by the cowls of their cloaks.

"I'm afraid I don't allow hooded guests," he said coolly, his hand drifting unobtrusively to the sword belted at his hip.

"My apologies," the woman said, her voice smooth and full of the commanding tone of one used to giving orders and having them obeyed. "We didn't want to make a scene. Zuko, take off your hood."

_Zuko._ Piandao's mind whirled through a list of quickly-summoned references and settled on one about the right age. _Surely not…?_

The two reached up and pulled the cloth away from their faces, and Piandao found himself standing before the Prince and Princess of the Fire Nation.

Piandao sketched a quick bow, hiding his face and the surprise written on it. "Your Majesty," he acknowledged. "It's an honor to host you here at my humble abode. How may I serve you?"

Ursa rose from her kneel, pulling Zuko up with her. "There is no need for that here, Piandao," she said. "In your own home, I prefer you do not bow to me." He silently obeyed, straightening to meet her gold eyes. Ursa continued without pause. "I am here for the exact reason that I told your servant: I have come here looking for a teacher."

For the second time in several minutes, Piandao found himself surprised, and extremely annoyed because of it. He was never surprised, he was a genius. This was why he hated people that grew up around politics. "Your Majesty?" he was careful to keep his tone respectful. "Please forgive me for asking, My Lady, but why would the Princess need training in the sword? I have heard rumors of your prowess in firebending, and I suspect that anyone foolish enough to attack a woman of your stature – and heartless enough to attack one of your beauty – would surely be met with surprising strength. It would seem to me that you hardly need further protection." Piandao may hate people who grew up in politics… but that didn't mean that he couldn't play the part himself with expertise.

"Spare me the flattery, Piandao," Ursa said dryly, guessing his game. "And you're correct. I haven't come here for myself."

He cocked one eyebrow with practiced ease. "The boy, then?"

She nodded briskly, gently pulling the handsome youngster's arm until he stood in front of her. Piandao approached the duo and stood before the boy, his hands clasped behind his back and his steely eyes staring down at the unafraid child. "What have you brought to show your worth?" he asked, his tone as neutral as ever.

Zuko shifted, the only sign that he might be uncomfortable under the man's scrutinizing gaze. "Mother said that I wouldn't need to bring anything."

Piandao's expression was indifferent. "I don't make exceptions to my rules, even for Princes. I need proof that you are good enough to be my student."

"I don't mean to say that I haven't brought anything," the boy said quickly. Piandao struggled to keep his face even. So the Prince had been humble enough to want to prove his worth.

... Surprising.

The boy grinned up at him with a toothy, mischievous smile. "Master," he said, obviously trying his best to sound serious, "I have brought you the best thing I could think of." He paused for dramatic effect, and Piandao found himself commending the child for already having some mastery of court language. Zuko beamed and made the symbol of fire as he bowed. "My willingness to learn."

Piandao was silent for a long second. Ursa didn't move, simply stared unwaveringly. The whole room was still. The sound of pots and pans clanging in the kitchen in the back of the house could be heard, and Piandao dully noted that it was most likely the clamor of Fat preparing midday meal for the occupants of the house. Finally, the stern man turned briskly and made his way to his window. He stared out into the bright afternoon sun, considering.

He had no way of knowing what the Princess was really after, since this was obviously her doing.

He smiled wryly to himself. Fat's idea was still a very distinct possibility. He knew he was hardly popular with the Firelord, after deserting and then defeating that small army sent to get him back... He wouldn't put it past the old man to send his daughter-in-law to assassinate him.

After a long minute, Piandao turned to face his two guests once more. Ursa's face was very carefully polite, though he suspected that she hated being made to wait, and Piandao fought the urge to feel satisfied at her annoyance.

"I have decided," he said slowly, "to take you on as a student, Prince Zuko."

A smile flitted across the Princess's face, so briefly that if Piandao hadn't been carefully watching for her reaction, he might not have caught it. He had no idea what it might mean.

His own mouth twitched up at the corners. That was okay. He liked puzzles.


	3. Assassin

"You must choose your weapon with careful deliberation, Prince Zuko. Your sword is an extension of yourself; therefore your sword must reflect the core of your being." Piandao crossed the room to a shelf of long swords and delicately lifted one blade. He turned back to Zuko, who was sitting cross-legged on the tiled floor and trying to look patient.

"A long sword is for someone with a militaristic personality," he said, resting the blade's tip on the floor and displaying the weapon. "Suitable for an honest man with average skill." He fell silent, waiting.

Zuko watched him, trying to gauge whether his pause was a hint, or simply one of the random moments of contemplation Piandao was prone to. When he realized he should talk, he shook his head quickly. "I'm not very militaristic," he admitted. Then he grinned, his smile mischievous. "Or average."

Piandao said nothing, just turned briskly on his heel and replaced the blade on its proper hook. He moved to the next shelf and held up another sample. "A broad sword," he labeled the blade, holding the hilt in one hand and the tip in his other. "Meant for simple, strong young men."

Zuko scowled and pulled up his chin, somehow managing to stare down his chin at Piandao despite the older man standing over him. With Princely indignation, he cried, "I'm not simple!"

Piandao put the blade back with a small shake of his head, thinking that the boy's reaction had been simple enough to guess. "A rapier, then?" he suggested. He reached into a tall bucket and withdrew one of the thin blades. "For the flashy, and quick." He twirled it a few times in demonstration.

Zuko tilted his head, considering. Piandao inwardly sighed, silently adding _arrogant_ to the list of distinguishing traits. He was almost certain this would be the Prince's choice – it was the same for nearly all the young nobles. It was the civilized court weapon, after all, meant for pretty little duels that mocked true warfare. And Zuko seemed to fit the bill he had given just fine. Still, though it was not high on the list of Piandao's favorites, the delicate blade could be useful when the user was properly trained.

Finally, Zuko's eyebrows came together and his forehead wrinkled in his childish expression of confusion. "Aren't there any others?" he asked.

A tiny smile twitched at the corner of Piandao's mouth, coupled with his eyebrows rising a centimeter. So the Prince didn't think any of the easy weapons suited him, even the rapier. Perhaps he had a more complicated 'inner core' than he had anticipated.

He slid the rapier back into the sheath with a metallic hiss and turned to Zuko, his hands clasped behind his back. "A jiandao is your only other option," he informed the boy.

Zuko watched him, waiting for the elaboration sure to follow. Finally, he sighed and rolled his eyes. "Are you going to show me an example?" he drawled.

Piandao fought the urge to scowl at him. The rapier would have suited him perfectly, conceited little prick. "Perhaps," he said, his voice carefully even. "Perhaps not. I'm beginning to think a broad sword suits you best…."

As expected, the young Prince stilled immediately, realizing his mistake. Grudgingly, he hung his head for a moment. "My apologies," he finally ground out. "Please show me a sample, Master."

Was there sarcasm in that young voice? It was hard to tell. Piandao considered, but finally nodded. "My own sword will do," he said, and in a fluent movement drew his sword and let the tip hover a few inches from the Prince's nose, taking some small satisfaction in seeing Zuko's eyes fly wide with surprise. After a moment, he pulled it back and held it carefully so the boy could see it. Zuko's eyes ran up and down the blade. After a moment, he lifted his gaze to meet Piandao's.

"What kind of man takes a jiandao?" he asked, and for once his voice wasn't contemptuous in the least, simply curious and almost timid.

Piandao gave him a little half-smile and opened his arms wide, doing a mocking little bow. "A man like me."

Zuko opened his mouth, but wisely pressed his lips together before any questions or complaints could flood out. Smart boy, deciding not to press the matter. His bright gold eyes wandered around the room, looking at the swords and trying to decide which best suited him. They fell on a pair of curved double swords hanging from hooks on the opposite wall and his face lit up. "What are those swords?" he asked, pointing a small, chubby finger.

Piandao followed his gaze and saw him examining his only pair of dao swords. Piandao crossed the small room and lifted one, holding it out in front of him. "Dao swords," he sighed. "They are for deceptive people, spies and assassins. People who are always hiding who they really are. Acrobatic, but not physically overpowering."

Zuko regarded the blades with a hunger in his eyes. "Perfect."

Piandao straightened with surprise, stifling the instinct to give other, more noticeable signs of his shock. Was that truly how the Prince saw himself? It was nothing like what nobles usually thought of their strength and abilities. Then again, with Ursa as his mother and Ozai his father, it was certainly possible that the Prince knew politics were where real damage could be done, and shadows were where true dangers hid. The swords may turn out to suit the boy quite well, though he hadn't thought of it at first.

Still, he couldn't help but test him.

"These are advanced weapons," Piandao stated, turning around and hanging it on the wall again. "They will take far too long and far too much effort for someone your age to master. You must have perfect coordination to wield them efficiently. They aren't for you."

Zuko jumped to his feet, pleading and excited. "Please, Master! I can learn them! I will train as long as it takes! I know I can master them, just give me a chance!"

Piandao shook his head. "They will take too much time out of your firebending practice. Choose an easier weapon."

"You asked me to choose a weapon that suits me," Zuko insisted. "I have chosen my weapon, and now you won't teach it to me?"

Piandao waited a long minute, just watching the young Prince. Finally he drew himself up to his full height and regarded the boy regally, deciding that Zuko seemed committed enough. "You will train whenever I tell you to," he ordered.

"Okay!" Zuko hopped from foot to foot, beaming.

"You won't argue with me."

"Never!"

"You won't torment the other students."

Zuko had opened his mouth to agree when he stopped and considered. "Not even a little?" he asked, sounding disappointed.

Piandao fought the urge to smile. He wasn't so old that he had forgotten what it was like to be a child living with other boys. Teasing was to be expected, almost required of them. "You won't torment them _excessively,_" he amended.

Zuko grinned and sketched a hasty bow. "Thank you, Master."

Piandao sighed and bowed back. When he straightened, he saw Zuko running for the dao swords and reaching to pluck them off the wall. Piandao caught him under the arms and pulled him away. "No," he said sternly, setting the Prince in front of him. "You must make your own. And until that time comes, we will be training with _wooden_ weapons."

Zuko pulled off a pout that would have sent any mother into spasms of hugs. Piandao stared at him dispassionately. In truth, he felt like comforting the Prince, but he fought the urge and instead pointed at the door. "Go tell your mother the news," he said, for lack of anything better to say.

Zuko managed to pull off a haughty look and nodded before running out, the door slamming closed behind him. Piandao sighed and shook his head, putting a hand to his temple and wondering what he had gotten himself into. Ursa would have a word or two for him when she found out he was training her son to be an assassin.


	4. Intruder

A/N: Long time no see, my friends! To let you all know (in case you haven't figured it out on your own) I combined the first two chapters (not including the prologue) so it made more sense. Enjoy!

Oh, and remember what I said. No discernible plot in the scenic route just yet... so try to just go with the flow. ^-^

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><p>The warm light that had been streaming through his eyelids was cut off abruptly. His hand shifted to his sword immediately, but he stopped himself from drawing it; anyone who wanted him dead would have just killed him instead of alerting him of their presence. With half a second of thought, he knew who the intruder was. Piandao sighed and let his arm relax, opening his eyes to blink grudgingly at the Princess. "Your Majesty. May I help you with something?"<p>

She tapped her the toe of her worn brown riding boots impatiently, her arms crossed over her chest and an unreadable expression on her face. The cherry blossom boughs above her head swayed with the light wind in the courtyard, the grass under him whispering softly. Pink light filtered and danced across her pale face and it's carefully neutral façade. "Most people would grace royalty with the respect of getting up to speak with them."

A smirk hovered on the corner of Piandao's mouth with the knowledge that he had managed to irk her. "You father-in-law would disagree, Princess. The Fire Lord prefers all to bow in his presence. If my memory doesn't fail me, he requests their forehead touch the ground." Piandao barely managed to stifle his caustic, bitter tone as the words slipped out.

A shadow flitted across her expression for a fraction of a second. Then, quietly, she said, "I am not my father-in-law, Piandao. You would do well to remember that fact."

Piandao stilled for a quiet second before jumping to his feet in a flawless show of grace. A stray hand of brown hair slipped in front of his eyes, and he nonchalantly brushed it away. He clasped his hands behind his back, his neutral brown robes seemingly unaffected by his meditation in the roots of the tree. "My question remains, Your Majesty," he commented lightly, maintaining his manners. "Can I help you with something?"

"Yes," she said tersely, shifting so her hands rested on her hips. He noticed with some interest that a platinum ring with a character he couldn't see glittered on her finger, but he quickly lifted his gaze away before she would notice. "My son informed me that you allowed him to choose Dao swords for his weapon."

Piandao arched an elegant eyebrow. "I did. Is there a problem, My Lady?"

"You seem to forget that I know my swords as well as any soldier, Piandao. Why would you let him train with an assassin's weapons?"

"I did not forget, Princess," Piandao argued with a small smile. "On the contrary, I thought you would approve of his choice. Is it not fitting for one in the royal line?"

_People who are always hiding who they really are._ Piandao didn't voice the memory.

Ursa's mouth narrowed into a tight line, her eyes flashing. She looked ready to bite out a sharp retort, but after a moment, she sighed, hanging her head so her shining, raven black hear shifted to cover her face. "I suppose they'll do. They are difficult, and the necessary hard work will do him good." She turned on her heel with a flourish, her long red robes flaring behind her. She paused as she reached the gate of the courtyard, a delicate, pale hand on the tan bricks. She seemed to hesitate before speaking, but when she did her voice was firm and dark. "Watch your step, Piandao. Don't try to mold my son. He won't be your pawn… I'll see to that."

"I wouldn't dream of it, Princess," Piandao replied gravely with the slightest of bows in her direction.

"I've told you not to bow to me at your own estate, Piandao," she ordered, and he noted that in the space of the silence her tone had shifted until it was no more commanding than tired. As she disappeared around the corner, her dress billowing and hair trailing in the slightest breeze that ruffled the leaves in the tree above him, his eyes narrowed.

_You show too much emotion to be a Princess, Ursa,_ he lamented_. You don't play your husband's game yet. _

He sighed, raising one hand to rub his temple as the vision of a bright young man, shining yellow eyes light as butter framed by spiky brown hair, flashed before his mind. He shook his head, his hand automatically gravitating to his sword hilt and his fist tightening around it, trying not to clench his jaw.

_Or do you simply play it better? _


	5. Catch

Piandao turned the Pai Sho tile over in his fingers once, eyes glazed.

_"Jeong Jeong, why must you __**always**__ play the White Lotus?" Piandao let his head thud against the Pai Sho table, a pain which was sharpened by the pint of ale he had downed earlier. "It's such a… such a dumb tile."_

_Jeong Jeong glared at him, as severe as always. "You __**would**__ think that, boy."_

Twice. He rubbed his finger over the carved white flower.

_"Just hold on to it for me, Li. If I am caught, it's not something I'd want on my person."_

_"Jeong Jeong, I told you, I'm not joining."_

_"Take it anyway, my boy. Just in case."_

Three times. The edge was chipped – had been since before the first time the grizzly firebender laid it between them.

_"Makoto." He held it out on a shaking palm. "Take it."_

_"I don't need it, friend." A warm hand closed over his, orange eyes still glistening from unshed tears. "I've travelled as well."_

_"You know what it means, then?" Piandao's voice came out choked. _

_"Of course. We have more than one thing in common." _

_"I'm glad, since that one thing is dead," Piandao spat. His fingers closed around the tile, so tight his knuckles turned white. The hand on his squeezed gently._

_"You are still my friend, Li. You don't need to bribe me to stay with the promise of a bigger purpose. I will watch the Fire Lord and the Princess for you, and for Ken's memory." He lifted his hand and smiled wanly. "Keep your tile for another boy. One with a little less disloyalty, and a little more promise."_

He stopped himself, blinking slowly. In a flurry of motion, the tile was tucked into his sleeve, his sword was drawn, and he was on his feet, facing the intruder he had sensed just behind him-

"The famous swordmaster, caught off his guard." Ursa's smirk was almost amused, her expression unruffled at the point of his blade. Piandao swallowed, trying to clear his head and hear the words under the blood pounding in his ears. He sheathed the weapon quickly and bowed his head, his apologetic humility not entirely faked.

"More infamous, I fear, My Lady," he muttered. "How is Zuko?"

"Training, as usual," she replied, a little wryly. "He works hard to please you."

"He learns quickly," Piandao admitted. He tapped the hilt of his sword absently, noting the Princess's eye track the movement. _Good._ As if catching himself, he lifted his hand and gestured to the two empty seats straddling the small table. "Tell me, do you play Pai Sho?"

The Princess's lips twitched almost arrogantly. Piandao shifted, his smile wolfish. "There is one catch, though – one rule I always insist upon."

Ursa seated herself with all the delicate precision of her station, folding her hands in front of her. She fixed Piandao with a gentle smile, eyes an unreadable puzzle. "Do divulge."

Piandao sank into the seat, hooking one ankle over the other knee and slouching in his chair with a lazy grin. "Whoever wins asks one question of the loser, and the loser must answer honestly."

Ursa leaned forward, expression hungry. "And how would you tell if the loser was truthful?"

Piandao just picked a random tile, playing it in a neutral position on the middle of the board. "Word of honor, I suppose." He kept his tone light.

_Honor. Ken died for your husband's __**honor**__. _

Ursa's laugh was as sharp as shattered steel. "Honor indeed," she purred, like she had somehow known.

She played her first move.

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><p>AN: Plot? Do I sense plot?

Also, sorry for the changed title/summary. Time to get this story some more views! And you know how you can help?

**~review~**


	6. Truth

"Don't judge yourself too harshly, Your Majesty. Few people have won against me in the past decade."

Her pout seemed, to Piandao, a perfectly calculated emotion; the draw of the lips and dipping eyes must have been practiced in front of a courtier's mirror. "I suppose you have a right to your question," she sighed at length. "Ask quickly; I have my son to attend to."

"Zuko will practice past nightfall, if allowed." Piandao dismissed her concerns with a breezy wave of one hand, considering the play of the board. It hadn't been a particularly difficult game – certainly a much easier win than he had expected from one as court-raised and cunning as the Princess. He hadn't played a single of his favorite tiles, sticking to a rather mundane route that still managed to succeed. "I need a moment to collect my thoughts, and then I will pose my inquiry… if that pleases your Majesty."

She huffed quietly and crossed her arms, smiling lightly as if to belie her frustration. "Take all the time you need."

Piandao tried to pick apart her tone for sarcasm, but in the end, couldn't choose if he detected it or not.

What would he ask the Princess? He had played this version of his game with countless visitors, and always had a question about some subtle accent or barely-noticed limp, a hint of color in their eyes or hidden jewelpiece. He had never thought the opportunity would arise for him to sit across from a member of the royal family and lay them bare for his scrutiny.

Did he trust her to speak the truth? Her eyes were warm, but calculating, constantly narrowed with a serpentine intelligence and the slightest hint of a plotting smirk hovering on the corner of her lips.

Surely, she was here as her husband's pawn. Makoto hadn't sent him any new information on Ozai's behavior at the capital, nor had he overheard any talk on the matter of Ursa, but she wouldn't have come here unless on his direct approval. No wife of the Crown Prince sought training for the heir to the throne outside of the family, unless there was a clearly expected gain at the end of the road.

But what? What did Piandao hold that the royal family desired? What, other than vengeance for the public shaming he had dealt Azulon, could they find in gaining his trust?

Not that she was doing a particularly good job of it, Piandao thought. It is difficult to trust one whose motives you are always questioning, not matter how seductive or likeable they may be. As he watched her tap her finely manicured nails on the Pai Sho board with apparent impatience, the platinum ring caught his attention yet again. The character was still turned away from him, out of his line of sight, and piquing his curiosity until he urged to grab her hand and examine it closer.

And wasn't that train of thought just interesting? Piandao shut it down immediately.

"Very well, Princess," he drawled slowly, reveling in how she straightened with interest at his voice. "My question for you is thus." He paused, raising his eyes to meet hers in a daring gesture of disrespect. "Why are you here?"

She met his stare levelly, challenging him to find any lie in her words. He marked the rise of her chest that signified her breathing in the corner of his eye, latched the edge of his consciousness onto her fingers to see if she so much as twitched. A half-smile – almost bitter, almost resigned, almost smug – melted across her features like honey.

"I do believe I explained that already, Piandao. I want Zuko to be trained, and I refuse to accept anything but the best for my son."

Piandao could have screamed with frustration. _I __**know**__ that is not your only goal. I __**know**__ there is some other reason that has drawn you here!_

He did not voice his doubts. He had hedged his bets that she would answer him honestly, and as ever with the honor of the royal line, had been disappointed. "And why do you want to train Prince Zuko?" he asked, fighting to keep his voice level and his face even.

Her ever-present, half-formed smirk solidified. "You only have one question per game, Oh Magnificent Pai Sho Master."

Piandao leaned forward without really thinking, uncrossing his leg and resting one arm on his knees earnestly. His eager grin was almost sincere. "May I ask you to another game, Your Majesty?"

She stood up, brushing her dress absently with a look of cool condescension. "I'm afraid my evening is otherwise occupied," she replied, practically floating out of the room with a dangerously controlled step – the step of a seasoned warrior… or assassin. But she stopped at the door, turning around with one hand resting on the frame delicately. For once, the upturning of her perfectly painted lips was sweetly tentative, the corners of her eyes crinkled in accordance with the expression for the first time in her stay. "Perhaps in the morning?" she asked, and her voice was bordering on plaintive.

Piandao inclined his head silently, not trusting his voice with so many thoughts churning through his head. She moved away silently, leaving him alone in the quickly darkening room.

Maybe she was honest. Maybe she just walked with the practiced grace of a Princess. Maybe she was a mother first and a wife later.

But then… her family's record was against her. She was _not_ to be trusted. Jeong-Jeong's memory, Ken's memory, and the memory of a dozen burned hostages and a hundred fleeing soldiers attested to that.

He shook himself briskly and went to call in Zuko for a well-deserved hot meal.

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><p>AN: Please review. I'm so fond of this one, and I want other people to bother to read it and maybe be fond of it too. It'll just take a moment, I promise.


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